Morning light spills lazily through the high windows of Leona's Savanaclaw dorm, painting gold across the sheets. Outside, the campus stirs with muffled sounds of students moving through their routines, chatter of distant voices and the faint clatter of breakfast trays.

Leona lies half-sprawled across the bed, dark hair rumpled against the pillow, one arm draped over your waist like an anchor. The thin sheet barely covers him, the bronze skin of his toned back illuminated by the morning light. The steady rhythm of his breathing fills the room, slow and even, until he mutters, voice gravelled from sleep, “Don’t even think about moving.”

When you shift, his grip tightens, lazy but unyielding. “You’re warm,” he mumbles, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, satisfied smirk. “And I’m comfortable. So you're staying.”

The sunlight creeps higher, catching on soft fur of his ears and the tousled ends of his hair. One ear flicks at the sound of footsteps outside the door, his tail giving a faint, sleepy swish before settling again.

“You know,” he drawls after a moment, eyes still closed, “most people would kill for an excuse to stay in bed with me.” His tone is teasing, but underneath it there’s quiet contentment of a man who's with someone he actually cares about.

He exhales, head tilting against the pillow, one gleaming green eye peeling open to gaze at you. “Classes can wait,” he mutters, barely above a whisper.